


The Memory of Men

by Karri



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Teitho Fanfiction Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karri/pseuds/Karri
Summary: The Memory of Men is short; it is often those most in need who suffer for it.





	The Memory of Men

oOoOoOo

Legolas Greenleaf smiled he caught sight of the gaggle of children awaiting his party.  One of his companions waved, forgetting that they were still too far to be clearly seen by mortal eyes. 

“More and more come out to greet us every time,” remarked another companion, grinning as the children’s excited energy overcame their attempts at patience and, one after another, they began to spring upward for a better view.

“Indeed,” laughed Legolas in reply. “I think it quite safe to say they now look forward to our visits.”  

The entire party grew merrier with that realization, and their steps grew lighter and quicker as they wound their way through the bustling throng on the bridge.  To the elves, it seemed but a blink since this new bridge linking Laketown to Shoretown had been built.  Then again, it seemed like a mere moment since Shoretown had been built, for the town had not existed in the time of Smaug.

So much had changed since the dark times of Smaug’s dominion. _Yet, among men, so much remains the same_ , Legolas considered grimly.  _Children are so rare and precious to my race, yet among Men, they are plentiful, and perhaps that is why they are so easily disregarded and forgotten, he_ mused, as he and his companions left the bridge behind and turned into the darker alleyways that led to the orphanage.  _How is it that those with food and coin to spare find it so difficult to remember those have so little of both?  Had not so many of their fathers fought and died in battle against the orcs that would have enslaved man and woman and child alike, so many would not have so much more than these few. Yet is that not always the way with Men…_

Legolas forced away his pensive gloom as the first of the orphans bounded into his small party of elves.  He grinned at the chorus of small voices asking what the elves had brought for the eager little hands today. 

“What have we brought?” Legolas mimicked, playfully.  “Hmmm, what _have_ we brought, my friends?” He asked, over his shoulder, as he rummaged in sack hanging from his shoulder. “Oh my,” he exclaimed, after a moment.  Shrugging, he drew the string of the bag closed.  “Did we forget gifts for our young friends today?”

“Legolas!” Chimed the chorus of young voices, knowingly, and he grinned again. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, with a chuckle, and turned to point at his companions, who had each opened their bag and begun fishing out biscuits and scones that had been baked fresh just for the occasion. 

As the chorus shifted to “oohs” and “aaahs” Legolas danced away from the group and into the orphanage to tend to business while the children were occupied.

“Good day, Matron,” he greeted, as she met him just inside the door. 

“Legolas!” She clasped his hands warmly and rose on her toes to kiss his cheeks.  “It is so good to see you!”

“And you,” he replied, politely, before removing the crown of spring flowers that he wore and placing it gently atop the Matron’s head, earning a broad grin from her.  “How fare you and your charges?” 

Legolas frowned as she nearly shrugged woefully, but then stopped herself and forced a smile instead.  “We are managing…”

“But…” he prodded, sensing “managing” was perhaps too optimistic a word to assess the real state of affairs.

“We are, truly.” Legolas raised a dubious eyebrow, provoking the response, “Truly, the children do not starve thanks to the fruit and grain your king supplies us each month, and the stag jerky you gave us after your last hunt has stretched well, and the clothing gifted us the solstice before last seem determined to outlast the children.” Legolas frowned, though, still sensing a need unfulfilled, and the Matron added quickly, “Please, my lord, do not think we are not grateful.  We are, ever so much, and, truly, it is enough.”

“It is not, I think,” Legolas countered.  “There must be so much more that your children need to thrive that we cannot supply, for we are ill-equipped to know their needs.”  He paused, shifted the bag from his shoulder and holding it out to the Matron. “We must, I think, provide you instead with the means to supply these things for yourself.”

Accepting the bag, the Matron raised a curious brow as she led Legolas into her small office.  “What have we here?” she asked, setting the bag on her desk and pulling open the drawstring.  Her brow rose higher as she peered inside.  “What have we?” She repeated, upending the contents onto her desk. 

“Merchandise…” Legolas replied, simply.

The Matron quirked her head in question as she picked up one of the intricately carved animals and studied the fine detail and radiant polish that complimented the dark wood so perfectly. 

“Merchandise?”

“I’ve have wandered the market stalls of Laketown and noticed that such crafted bobbles seem in high demand,” Legolas explained. “The crafting of these bobbles provides purpose for idle hands, and it is our hope, may also provide you the coin to better provide for the children as you see fit.”

The Matron bowed her head humbly.  “The generosity of your people is boundless, my lord.  I know not how we shall ever repay it…”

“You shall repay it with hard work and dauntless courage,” Legolas assured.  “For it is you and your children that shall have to bring the goods to market and return with coin. Running a market stall can be more drudgery than enjoyment, and there is no guarantee of success from day to day.”

“But it is a chance…. It is hope for a future that is more than just not going hungry; a future in which the children could be educated and apprenticed and able to stand on their own,” the Matron stated, firmly, and Legolas nodded.  Setting the bobble in her hands back onto her desk, she took Legolas by the hands, again, and squeezed in gentle gratitude.  “Thank you, my Lord!”

oOoOoOoOo

Aragorn trudged wearily across the bridge into Laketown, shivering as a cold autumn breeze wafted off the water and seemed to weave it’s way through his clothing until it found skin to chill.  He sighed, gloomily.  _I left the comfort of Elrond’s house and entered into the wilds to prove myself; thus, I cannot allow myself to be cowed into running back home, for still I think of it as such, by the specter of winter’s cold.  That would not do!_

Raising his head, he squared his shoulders and marched more earnestly into the town, determined not to notice the chill, or damp permeating the air, or the filth hidden in the deep shadows of dusk. 

_I must find a bed for the tonight quickly,_ he realized, _for soon the town will be all closed up for the night._ Glancing around as he wandered the streets, Aragorn soon comprehended that it was already too late.  The few folks still flitting about in the growing darkness scrambled away whenever he drew near.  _I must appears as a dark stranger, come in the night for who knows what nefarious deed…._ He sighed again.  _I must set my sights toward a comfortable alleyway, instead, methinks, for I fear there will be nothing else for me tonite._

_This will do_ , he decided, a few streets later, as he found a sheltered corner beneath a well built staircase.  He would be hidden in the dark of the night, thus, _hopefully_ , safe enough from any thieves that might venture out once the town was fully tucked in for the night.  _I shall risk it, at least, for I have traveled far today am too weary not to sleep this night._

_And sleep I did,_ he chided himself, yawning as as shaft of morning sun filters through the beams of the staircase to announce the coming of day.  _I should remove myself from hole lest someone assume I am skulking in the shadows with ill intent._

Gathering up his pack, Aragorn rose stiffly and all but stumbled around to the front of the staircase, where he sat again to stretch and gather his bearing before moving on. 

“Here you are, my poor fellow.  You find yourself something warm to drink this morning, for it was a cold night, and you must be chilled straight through.”

Aragorn’s head whipped around at the sound of the voice, and he found himself staring into the face of grandmother, a coin in her outstretched hand.  Chagrined, he shook his head.  “I cannot accept…,” he began to protest.

“Nonsense!” She interjected.  “You most certainly can accept, and you must,” she declared.  “For I am too old to contribute much to the world these days; thus you cannot would this old heart of my by denying what aid I can give.”

Knowing it would be unchivalrous then to counter such an argument, Aragorn acquiesced with a bow of his head.  “Thank you, madam, your kindness and generosity shall not be forgotten.”

“That is good to hear,” she replied, with a smile.  She paused then, looking deeply into his eyes, before adding, “And I think that you are indeed a man who speaks not idly.  I have no doubt you will not forget… And will mayhap return my kindness with kindness to others?”

“I shall endeavor to do so, madam,” Aragorn agreed, with grim sincerity, accepting the coin and giving her hand a gentle squeeze of gratitude.  The grandmother smiled, before continuing with her day.

Aragorn watched her for a moment, then rose to explore the town.  _And, mayhap, find that warm drink of which she spoke._

He had not gone far before such an opportunity presented itself by way of a small market stall selling ladleful of a warm, spiced drink of a sort Aragorn had not tasted previously. _It is…different, but I could quickly grow to like it, I think._ He mused.  _Then again, I am chilled and thirsty, so perhaps it taste better in this moment that it might in another._

Thus, when offered another ladle full, Aragorn declined with a shake of the head, and accepted instead a smaller coin in change.  Pocketing it, he moved deeper into the market, with more curiosity than intend to buy. 

Aragorn had nearly reach the far end of the market street before another stall caught his interest sufficiently to draw him over.  _How fine,_ he thought, as he picked up one of the small, intricately carved animals laid out in display.  It was an eagle, with is wings folded back in rest, but it’s head held high and an attentive expression upon it’s face, as though it had just seen something of interest, but had not yet decided that thing was worth the effort of taking to the air.   _Someone with very skilled hands has crafted this,_ he comprehended, as he studied the minute detail of the feathers and talons, beak and eyes.  His shifted his gaze the young man behind the stall.  Two smaller children stood behind him the lad, and Aragorn wondered just how many younger siblings this lad supported with his carvings.

_He is young for such skill! And for such responsibility,_ Aragorn thought, as he asked aloud, “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?” the young man replied, tossing a quick, dubious glance at the Aragorn’s scruffy cloak. 

Aragorn fished out the remainder of money he’d received that morning and held it out to the boy. 

“Half of that will do, I think,” answered the boy, and it was Aragorn’s turn to cast a dubious glance at the young man and children behind him.

“All of it, I would think, for this is fine work,” he countered.  “And will insist upon it,” he added, as the boy shook his head in protest. 

“But I dare say you shall need it,” the boy insisted anyway.  

Aragorn shook his head.  “The coin was given me in kindness unforeseen, and I shall not insult that gift by keeping a portion of it now.  Not when you have more need of it than I, I think, and not when such a craft as this is given in exchange.”

The boy nodded in acceptance. “Thank you, sir.  I shall be out to good use, I assure you.”

“I do not doubt it,” Aragorn replied, pocketing his bobble.  “Good day to you!” He bade, ducking his head to the children, before wandering back toward the bridge. _I should be heading for Dale now, I think, for I have dawdled overlong in the market and do not wish to spend another night in the dampness of Laketown._

oOoOoOo

“What is that you have, my friend?” Legolas asked, joining his friend upon the wall of Gondor.  He smiled contentedly as Aragorn glanced up.  The battle was won, and Aragorn would soon be crowned Elessar, King of Gondor, so time was short for such private moment with his friend.

Aragorn held out the small bobble he’d been caressing.  “It’s just a bobble I picked up in Laketown long ago…” Legolas quirked his head, and Aragorn smiled,  before amending, “It seemed a lifetime ago to me, my friend, but I grant it was, perhaps, hardly more than a blink in the life of elf.” Legolas’s eyes twinkled in amusement, but he said nothing, so Aragorn continued, “It was not long after I’d learn of my heritage and begun the wanderings that would lead me here.”

Legolas nodded, better comprehending his friend’s perspective.  “May I see it?”

Aragorn hesitated a moment, but then acquiesced.  _It is just a bobble, but Legolas is wise enough to understand it’s value rather than tease me for my sentimentality._

Legolas grasped the bobble gently, turning it over and over to study the intricate detail.  Then, he handed it back, a conspiratorial smile blossoming as he did so.  “Do you know the origin of this bobble, my friend?”

Aragorn raised a brow at the question.  “Does you age finally affect you, my friend,” he queried playfully in response.  “For I just told you I acquired it in Laketown.”

Legolas nodded.  “Yes, but do you know how it came to be there?”  Aragorn’s brow furrowed, as he begun to feel the butt of a joke he did not know, and Legolas laughed. “Let me enlighten you…. It came to Laketown by way of the elf who carved it,” he announced, quirky his head again as he waited for comprehension to dawn.

He did not have to wait long, for it was only a breath or two before Aragorn mumbled, “You?”

Legolas laughed, again.  “Indeed, my friend.”

Aragorn gaze at him, bemused, before admitting, “I had assumed the young man at the market stall had carved all his merchandise himself.” His gaze fell to bobble now safely back in his own hand, and he shook his head at the foolishness of his younger self. “I should have known one so young could not have been so skilled.”

“You did not think to ask?” Legolas wondered. 

Aragorn shrugged.  “I did not.  He was earnest, as were the young ones that stood behind him, and, I suppose, I was too impressed by my belief that he was using his skill to support himself and his younger siblings that I did not think to ask.” 

“Well, you were not too far off in your assumptions,” Legolas stated, and it was Aragorn’s turn to quirk his head in question.  “The bobbles were crafted as means to support the children,” Legolas elaborated.

Aragorn’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.  “May I ask, my friend, what these children were to you that you would be so concerned with their welfare?”

Legolas frowned at the question, then studied his friend a moment, before explaining, “The were to me the sacrifice of many for the sake of all that too few of their own kind remembered.”

Aragorn shook his head.  “I have gone too many days with too little sleep to puzzle out an answer to that riddle, my friend.”

Legolas frowned again. “That young men and the children with him were among the many orphans left behind after the Battle of Five Armies was fought and won…and forgotten by men.”

“Not forgotten,” Aragorn countered. “For I heard the tale of it told many a time as wandered.”

“The Battle, perhaps, was not, but the sacrifice made by those who did not return from it, and by those they left behind…” Legolas shook his head sadly.  “That, I think, is too easily forgotten by Men.”  Legolas’s gaze shifted up to ‘look his friend directly in the eye.  “You will be king, soon.”

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably at the reminder, but acknowledged, “I will.”

“And when you are king,” Legolas continued. “You must not forget those valiant men to fought so bravely for the freedom of all Men, but returned to broken to heal, and the widows and orphans of those who returned not at all.  They are _your_ responsibility.” Aragorn opened his mouth to offer assurance as his friend paused for breath, but Legolas pressed on before he could speak. “It is a responsibility easily lost in the chaos of rebuilding, and hard to find as a city begins again to flourish and its people choose to look only toward the hope of a bright future, rather than back at the grimness of the sacrifices that brought them that hope. Do not forget, Aragorn!”

“I will not, I swear it, my friend,” Aragorn vowed, earnestly. 

“I do not doubt your heart, my friend.  But it is an easy thing to say now, with the battle fury still ringing in your ears.  Yet once the tediousness of life begins…don’t let them fall by the wayside, forgotten in the tediousness of day to day life…”

“I will not forget them, Legolas!  You have my vow!” Aragorn assured.  “And you have this to remind me of it, should your ever find me wanting in regard to their care,” he added, gently pressing the bobble into Legolas’s hand. 

Legolas nodded, wrapping his fingers carefully around the old eagle.  “I shall hold you to that vow, my friend.”

oOoOoOo

“I _shall_ hold you to that vow, my friend,” Legolas murmured to himself, as he bent to place a coin the bowl of the hungry child huddled in a doorway before him.  He had seen the lad before, not so long ago, among the faces of those realizing that their loved one would not return from the battle field.  “I shall remind him, little one, and you shall have hope again,” Legolas assured, ruffling the child’s dirty head as large, woefully, stared up at him blankly.  “You will see…” Legolas vowed, before rising and turning to stride, purposefully toward the King’s private hall.

Fury drove him so that he barely registered the flourishing of the city as he made his way through the lower levels of the city to the increasing luxury of the higher levels. The intensity of that fury emanated so fiercely that the drove the bustling throng from his path, until he reached the door that would take him to King Elessar.  There, the fury alarmed the king’s guard, who shifted to block the door, despite the familiarity of the face.

“Lord Legolas,” one guard greeted, a query in his tone.

“Is that Legolas?” A voice from within inquired. “Why do you block the door? Let him pass!”

The guards hesitated, despite their King’s instruction, for he had not seen the fury in his friend’s eyes, but then they shifted. The elf was not armed and was, after all, one of their King’s most trust friends.

“Legolas!” Elessar greeted, coming to meet his friend, but he stopped short has he caught his friend’s expression. “What it is, my friend!”

“You have forgotten them, Elessar!” Legolas stated, his voice deceptively soft, but there was no mistaking the cool rage. 

“Who?” Elessar asked, bewildered. “Who…what have I forgotten?”

Legolas stepped forward and raised held his hand out, palm up, but fist closed around something that Elessar could not distinguish.   The movement was so abruptly that the King nearly flinched back, before remembering that he was _King_ and holding his ground accordingly.  His brow furrowed as Legolas unclenched his fist to reveal an intricately carved eagle.  After a moment, though, his expression fell and it’s significance registered. 

oOoOoOo

“Here.”  Legolas turned away from admiring the newly built orphanage, at the sound of Elessar’s voice and glanced down to find his friend’s hand outstretched, the carved eagle upon it.  “Should I need reminding again…”

Legolas accepted it with a nod, sighing inwardly, as he reflected, _I do not doubt it shall be needed, my friend, for the memories of Men are short, alas._

The End.


End file.
